


Take Me to Church

by TrashPrince69



Series: BlackRom Makaracest [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black Romance, Breathplay, Gamzee Makara and Karkat Vantas Moirallegiance, Incest, Light Bondage, M/M, Masochism, Mild Blood, Minor Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas, Red Romance, Sadism, Sober Gamzee Makara, Wax Play, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashPrince69/pseuds/TrashPrince69
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Your name is Kurloz Makara and you've found yourself in a rather unexpected, but not unwelcome, situation." A BlackRom KurGam story. Mentions of Pale KurTuna, Red KurCro, Past Red KurMeu, Pale GamKar, and Supposedly one sided Red GamKar. Rated M for a reason. Based on Take Me to Church by Hozier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me to Church

Your name is Kurloz Makara and you've found yourself in a rather unexpected, but not unwelcome, situation. You'd been strolling through the dream bubbles, peacefully entertaining your own thoughts about your faith and your quadrants, when you were grabbed and knocked out. When you woke, you found yourself inside the dream bubble version of your own hive, naked, and chained to the human bed you had installed in your dark purple respite block. You weren't a huge fan of the thing. You only ever used it as a mating platform when you had sexual partners or for reading, but Cronus, your fragile little violet fish, had spoken fondly about them and had even been sweet enough to get one for you. So, you kept it and adorned it with blankets and pillows that were normally decorating your couch or your walls. It was a nice place to sit and read or sketch or just day dream.

But back to the moment you were presently in. Normally, you'd have been angry, fighting to release your limbs of the chains and get to clawing the motherfucker who did this to death, but soft honk made you stop and relax. A soft smile played on your stitched lips. So, it had been your kismesis, your precious Messiahs incarnate, who'd stripped your body bare and chained you to your own mating platform. Using your Voodoos, you searched for his mind, which wasn't hard to find. To you, every mind had a different sound. For example, your dear Mituna's mind often made sounds of static and occasionally let out a loud pop, while Cronus's mind held the sounds of the ocean, calming and dreamy. Gamzee's, however, had soft, rhythmic honking going to the tune of dark circus music. Some how it was different today, though. The music was still there, but a foreign bubbling and a strange haze were present. It reminded you of sopor slime. Perhaps he'd found some and ingested it out of habit?

You recall someone from his session mention how your Caliginous quadrant mate had once possessed a wicked addiction to the slime trolls were meant only to sleep in, not consume. His lusus had often left him, like your had left you, alone. But you never cared, you weren't as emotionally fragile as your Messiahs. Plus, you'd had friends living close by, so you were never really alone or starved of contact with the outside world. Gamzee on the other hand...

You sighed through your nose. Your thoughts were starting to bug you just as much as Gamzee's continued silence. The only sounds heard in the room was your shared breathing, both through your noses. You understood why you were breathing through your nose, your damn mouth was sewn shut. (Your fault, yes.) Gamzee's breathing sounded shaky, uneven, and like he was ready to cry or go into a fit of rage. If rage was the case, it would be you one the receiving end of it. Better than his friends, right? Dead people were better beat the shit out of because the damage only lasted a short while. Got a cut? Gone in a minuet. Broken rib? All better in an hour. Beaten to a bloody pulp laying on the floor? Might take about 24 hours, but the point was, you would heal quicker than a live person, if said live person actually lived from being beaten to a bloody pulp.

You sighed out your nose with relief as you hear soft rustling, the sound you'd come to associate with clothing being removed from ones body. So, your Messiah did intend to pail with you this day. How mirthful. Soft foot steps approached you and the bed, indicating he was coming closer. You took a breath in through your nose, taking in his smell. It was that of greasepaint, a smell you both shared but it some how smelled better on him, and sweet, sweet miraculous Faygo. You'd heard a tale from your mirthful Messiah about a human called Dave that mocked your faith in the form of a music video from a human band called Insane Clown Posse. You'd once looked them up yourself, trying to see what had gotten Gamzee all riled up and set on a murder spree. From the videos and songs you could see how the younger troll had seen it as blasphemy, but what you couldn't understand was how it made him rage to the point of murder.

Yes, it seemed the humans in the band in question had taken inspiration for their actions and music from the Subjuggulator faith, and in ways, yes, it was blasphemous, but... Did you think it rage worthy? No.

Despite the anger, the cynicism, and dismissive attitude, on both your parts, you cared deeply for Gamzee. But only one side of him. One side was a jovial and tenderhearted clown who would do anything to please his friends, especially his moirail. The other side was dark, angry, and broken, like someone built up all of his hopes and dreams then crushed them to dust, leaving behind an empty shell of a troll. You pitied his dark side but hated his loving side. You wanted to take what was left of his joviality and obliterate it, burn it, crush it, do anything to it except pity it. You wanted him to be true to his calling as the one true Messiah, you wanted to nurture his murderous nature, to turn him into a proper Alternian Subjuggulator.

You hissed as Gamzee's sharp claws dug into the soft flesh of your stomach, drawing a good amount of your indigo blood, which dribbled down your sides and onto the bedding. Damn, now you'd have to clean that up. You felt him lean down, finally getting a glimpse of his face. His beautifully angled, yet rounded out face. With narrow eyes that should have been wide, had he been happy. His lips were soft, never seeming to be chapped, as they left a faint and gentle kiss to your collar bone before biting down on it, drawing a moan from your sewn lips. He loved doing this to you. Loved to tease you until you were writhing on the mating platform under him, begging him for more, begging for him to fuck you into oblivion, and he always complied. He always listened when you begged, legs spread to show him your greedy, hungry nook. He'd always give you the rough fucking you so desired, the kind you'd get no where else.

Seeing you writhe seemed to trigger a moan from Gamzee's throat as he moved to suck on the flesh of your neck where it connected to your shoulder. You shivered at the sound of his voice. It was godly to you. Low and gruff, but it always had a melodic and gentle tone to it, even when he was yelling or annoyed. If the Messiahs ever did speak Gamzee was the last true mouth piece for them. You swore up and down that he could probably just dirty talk you to orgasm. His lightly calloused hands traced the curves and contours of your body, not missing a single inch. To anyone who walked in right then, they might have thought you two were in the midst of simple kinky love making, but that was not the case. No matter how gentle Gamzee was at the start of these black pailings, it was just to mess with your head and get you begging for his thick bulge. He loved his little, childish mind games in bed, but they felt so good you couldn't say no. Messiahs above you wished you'd begun to worship him sooner.

Yes, you worshiped him, almost to the point of obsession and that often worried your other quadrant mates. You couldn't properly worship your Messiah in public so worship in the respite block on a mating platform with a fresh poison each week. This church offered no absolution, no respite from the guilt of sin that addled your mind. His touch was your healing grace, if only for a brief time. His delicate and beautiful hands wrapped themselves around your neck, squeezing lightly then gradually adding more and more pressure until you were panting through your nose with the strain. He loved to use breathe play on you, especially since it was easier to use it on you when you couldn't breathe through your mouth and you had no tongue to object. Damn, if there weren't days you regretted your vow of silence...

His grip loosened around your neck, allowing you to breathe easier. You were absolutely positive there were going to be bruises there. Good thing your skeleton suit hid your neck quite well. As he straddled you, his own wet nook dripping onto your stomach, you heard an odd sound followed by a dim light. He'd lit a match and used it to light an indigo candle in his hand. If you could move your hands you'd have asked what he was planning on doing with the candle, but as it were, your hands were bound and your Voodoos restricted by his. He set the candle aside and then picked up a very sharp looking pair of green handled scissors. You recognized them, quite well in fact. Porrim used them to cut fabrics of all kinds and often referred to them fondly as her "god scissors". Your breath hitched as the sharp blades parted and slipped between your lips and the stitches that held them closed. Slowly, the blades began to close.

Snip...

Snip...

Snip...

Snip...

Snip...

Snip...

Six agonizingly slow snips snapped each individual stitch in half with ease. Six little snips that grew louder and made you flinch harder each time. You weren't afraid of pain, no no no, not at all. In fact, you welcomed it, even considered it a blessing of the Messiahs that you were conscious and aware. Perhaps you could go as far as to say you were masochistic.

Okay... You were masochistic.

Yes, you loved pain, loved being hurt by another, especially in the bedroom, it's why you'd never found a good kismesis for you until Gamzee. Many trolls weren't willing to inflict such pain upon another, but Gamzee was so far out of his think pan, so caught up most of the time in his world of miracles, blood shed and murder that he just didn't care who he hurt or when. The only person who seemed to get through that thick fog was Karkat, but even he had trouble.

Gamzee set aside the scissors and used his thin, delicate yet strong fingers to slowly remove the remnants of your stitches. It hurt, but it was familiar enough for you to not whimper. As he worked, you admired his face. He'd washed his make up off, though he still smelled like it, revealing his cute little cheek bones and pretty little lips. Ah, the things those skilled, plump, pretty little lips could do to you. Words could pass them that made you hate yourself, or soothing words of praise. Gentle, almost loving kisses could be pressed to your own thin, chapped lips or they could works wonders on your nook. His eyes though... Oh, those were the real kicker. They almost glowed a soft yellow-orange while his irises had begun to take on the lovely shade of his blood.

You hadn't realized you'd zoned out until his nook was pressed against your now free lips, leaking genetic fluid onto your face. You knew what he wanted and because you adored him, you'd give in to him. You pressed a hard kiss to his nook, drawing a pleasured sigh from his pretty little mouth, before moving your lips in motions like you would if you were kissing his lips. The action seemed to please him beyond what you thought it would, seeing as you had no tongue. But he leaned his head back, panting lightly as he let out the most miraculous and mirthful of sounds. Pleasured moans and whines escaped his throat as he slowly rolled his hips against your mouth. He was enjoying every second you gave his precious little nook attention and that gave you your own sort of twisted pleasure.

You were born sick.

But you loved it.

Messiahs command you to be well.

Gamzee, deciding that once his bulge was out was wiggling freely in the air, moved from your face, which was now coated his miraculous fluid, and he picked up the candle. The candle had been burning long enough to create a nice amount of melted, burning hot, indigo wax. You swallowed in excitement, feeling your bulge start to unsheathe it's self. You heard him sigh and saw him smile faintly, eyes half lidded in lust, as he slowly poured the hot wax over your torso. You arched your back and let out a loud whine. Wax play. Oh mother fuck, you loved wax play more than most of your kinks and fetishes, and you had a plethora. He took extra care to get the wax onto your grub scars and bulge sheathe, which nearly made you cry out in ecstasy. You, being as stubborn as you were with making your own noises, wound't grant him the satisfaction of thinking he'd broken your will so quickly. You worshiped him, yes, but you still liked to mess with him.

He growled low in his throat when he didn't get the reaction he wanted. He seemed impatient today. Had something pissed him off? What ever the reason, he seemed to want you to sacrifice your dignity to him, allow him to consume it like an appetizer, and then he'd take something more... Meaty for his main course. Of course, you wanted something too. He looked tasty, he looked plenty...

Mirthful Messiahs, command you to be well, being his kismesis...

It was hungry work.

You finally gave him the reaction he'd wanted, what he'd so desperately craved, when he dug one of the scissor blades edges into your hip, drawing blood and letting it flow in thick streams onto the mating platform. You had cried out, eyes wide, law going slack as the creaky, scratchy sound escaped your throat, finally free of it's prison inside your chest. You hadn't used your own voice, your true voice, since you'd bitten off your tongue and sewed your mouth shut. You hadn't spoken a real word without your Voodoos since you deafened Meulin with your scream. Your voice had gone quite unused since then, the sounds that were heard from your throat were grunts and occasional groans and growls of displeasure or anger. Gamzee Makara, your dancestor, your one true Messiah, the one who's orders you'd carry out without question and they'd be fulfilled to motherfucking letter, had drawn a cry, a strangled scream out from you.

He chuckled a bit, amused by the sound. You weren't going to give into his other wishes however. Not soon anyways. He wanted you to beg, beg like you so ritualistically did each time you pailed with him. When the ritual of you begging and thrashing on the bed, mind fogged with lust and want, you always ensured there were no masters or kings in the situation. Despite him being your Messiah, you still felt sexual partners needed to be equal, so you made sure he was just as eager and needy as you when you began the act of pailing. You had told him that you would do as such and he seemed to respect that, finding it easy to agree. He didn't want to be dominated and neither did you. Neither of you were dominates, but neither of you were submissive either. Another term you had agreed upon was that if either of you said stop or no, even in the middle of pailing, you would stop. Initially, Gamzee had been confused by the gesture, but once you explained to him what you meant, he understood and readily agreed.

Even if sex was consensual at first, that didn't mean it was okay to keep going when your partner (or partners. You didn't judge) said no. If someone said no or stop in the middle of sex, their partner was to stop, otherwise it was rape. And you had very, very strong feelings about that, and thankfully, Gamzee seemed to as well.

You whine as he presses a bruising kiss to your indigo stained lips as he tugs at your hair. You kiss him back, both of you biting at each others lips and making them bleed. You swore he'd kissed others before you with how well he kissed. Well, others besides Tavros's head, who couldn't exactly kiss back... Being only a head and what not. You growled and pushed that thought out of your head. It was disgusting to think about a low blood's, especially a brown blood's, filthy lips on your Messiah's perfect pure ones. Gamzee moans softly as your bulge finds it's way to his dripping nook, rubbing it lightly with just the tip. Your bulges were similar, yours being bigger than his, but you had piercings in yours, while he did not. Yours also had some ridges that his didn't, but they along with the piercings, seemed to give him pleasure whenever you got the chance to fuck him. You remembered clearly the first time you'd pailed. It had been when you'd just given him the cod piece and he'd removed his pants to try it on, make sure it fit right.

You'd pinned him to the wall and he seemed pretty eager for you to fuck him, like he'd not been pailed in a long time.

That same sort of eagerness was present now. Had it really been that long since you fucked him? Yes, actually, now that you thought about it, it had been about 60 perigees since you fucked him last. Yes, you saw it now, the way he kept glancing back at your bulge as the tip teased his pretty little nook, the way he moved his hips back, trying to get you to push into him. You forced your bulge away from his warm nook, making him let out something akin to a frustrated sob. Messiahs you wanted to be inside him so bad, to be so deep inside him and fucking him so hard he couldn't tell which way was up. Perhaps he'd be open to an idea you had, seeing as he also wanted to be inside you. Oh dear, what a dilemma. You tugged at the restraints on your arms, quickly getting his attention.

Gamzee glared a you, nostrils flaring as his eyes glowed more orange. You huffed and rolled your eyes, not that he'd bee able to tell in the dark room, the only light coming from the candle which lay quite forgotten. Sighing you merely forced back his ChuckleVoodoos, which in honesty wasn't too difficult seeing as he had very little control over them, not having practiced their use from an early age like you, and you told him your idea. As he listened, eyes flashing indigo, violet, and pink like yours, he seemed to get excited again, happy even as he wiggled. You noticed he had the habit of wiggling when he got happy. It was rather cute. You pulled out of his mind, letting him take control once more.

Your ritual would be different today. there would be no begging on either end and truly no master or king. Gamzee took in a deep breath and straddled your legs at just the right angle for you to be able to slip into him, making him gasp and moan out loud. He didn't ever hold back with his noises, like he didn't care if anyone heard. It was like he wanted to make other's jealous that he was having amazing sex and they weren't. You moaned low in your throat and sighed happily and closed your eyes as his greedy nook enveloped your thrashing bulge. His reaction, a loud moan with his head lolled down, while different than what you expected, spurred you to buck your hips, effectively thrusting into him, drawing out another tantalizing sound.

He growled at you, a dangerously low, but halfhearted sound deep in his throat. He was so cute when he tried to be scary while experiencing pleasure, though you supposed he thought the same about you when you growled during sex. You gasped softly as you felt his bulge, slick with lubricating genetic material, forced it's self inside you. While it was significantly smaller than your own, it still stretched you out pretty damn good.

The two of you sat there, panting lightly and practically clinging to each other while the candle flickered on the nightstand. It was moments like this, moments where you two didn't want to wreck each other til you screamed out in blissful agony, that you swore the lines between black and red blurred. You were his kismesis and he yours, yet when he didn't want to make you writhe or scream in pain, when you didn't want to pick his mind apart piece by ever loving piece until he was nothing more than a useless, schizophrenic, emotional wreck, when you two held on to one another for dear life, when you kissed his cheek and he accepted it, when he came crying to you over one of his melt downs instead of Karkat, you swore to him, to your Messiahs, that you two acted as matesprits. You two acted like there was nothing else to pity in the universe except each other.

You'd explained that to him once, but he just shook his head and walked off, calling you a moronic mime. You pitied him more than you should have, more than your mind should have allowed, you didn't hate him. Never did.

But...

Black was the only quadrant he'd fill with you, saying he had a flush crush, on Karkat, and his pale quadrant was taken, by Karkat. Him telling you he might consider a pale quadrant with you if Karkat discovered his feelings, for good or bad, still echoed in your mind whenever you felt a stab of pity in you vascular pump for him.

Gamzee let out a slow, shaky breath as he rolled his hips down, drawing moans from both of you. Soon enough the room was filled with faint moans, silent grunts, and heavy panting. You allowed your eyes to close and your body to relax and let Gamzee take control. His moans grew steadily louder, as did your own, as he began moving his hips faster, practically bouncing on your bulge while his thrashed and knotted up inside you. This, pailing with your Messiah, had to be a sin, it just had to be. A lower sin, maybe, but a sin none the less. Of course, there was no sweeter innocence than a gentle sin such as this.

In the madness of your desperate, sinful desires, this was your only heaven, the only one you'd be sent to. Being alone with him was it. Only with him were you absolved, only then you were you, only then you were clean. The guilt of what you'd accidentally done to Meulin, the guilt and pain you felt from your role in Mituna's accident, the stabbing agony you felt from tormenting Cronus when all he'd wanted was love all washed away in moments like this.

Gamzee saved you from destructive thoughts, ravaging your mind with only pleasure and bliss. Each time he brought you to a respite block, he was taking you to church, where you worshiped him like a bark beast at his shrine of mirthful lies. You'd tell him your sins while sharpened a knife to use against you. If you could, you'd offer him your life, but seeing as it had already been ripped from you, you couldn't, so you offered up your body, which he always greedily accepted.

Your eyes widened as you heard a breathy shout of your name rip from his throat as he jolted, releasing his genetic fluid inside you. The feeling made you shiver as you bucked your hips, trying to come too. He bounced faster than he had before, trying to help you reach orgasm despite his over sensitive nook. It wasn't long before a low moan spilled over your bloody lips as you released inside him. The two of you sat still, panting heavily while your respective bulges retracted. He looked so beautiful post-pail. It was like looking at a holy deity. His messy, tangled hair fell in sweaty curls over his forehead and framed his face and cheek bones nicely. His eyes were half lidded and yellow, glowing faintly in the dim room. You just wanted to slip a golden tiara right between his lovely horns and dress the rest of him in clothes befitting royalty. You wanted to shower him with affection and gifts. Alas, you could not.

His thin hands reached up and removed the chains around your wrists then the ones around your ankles. Damn, you'd gotten some wicked bruises from those chains. You sat up and watched him as he slipped his clothes back on. This was part of your ritual. You'd screw, he'd dress then wake up, leaving the dream bubbles behind until he could sleep again.

With a soft sound, almost like the wind, he was gone upon his real world awakening, likely because of Karkat again. You sighed deeply and looked down at yourself. Bloody and coated with genetic fluid and unlikely able to walk. You smile a bit as you find your purple shorts neatly folded beside the bed and you pulled out your phone. You'd gotten one because of Cronus, who often used it for messaging instead of his husk top like a normal troll. You logged into Trollian and asked said sea dweller to come over and help you clean up. This was the part of your ritual Gamzee was ignorant to. Right after he left, you'd ask your little red violet fish to come over and help clean you up.

While you waited for Cronus, you lied back down on the bed and closed your eyes, a soft smile on your face as you imagined Gamzee laying naked on a bed of indigo silk, white roses adorning his head and horns while you traced every inch of his body, like you were creating a map. Perhaps you should do that one day and show him just how much you worshiped him.


End file.
